


Samson

by QuincytheHen



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, stuffed animals are people too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuincytheHen/pseuds/QuincytheHen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily gave it to him when she decided she didn't need it to sleep anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Samson

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii! I know I owe so many chapters for so many things but my friend had this super sweet headcanon and I just had to write it!! Expect more Dishonored stuff from me in the future; I adore Corvo so much.

Emily gave it to him when she decided she didn't need it to sleep anymore.

She decided that, instead of throwing it away, it needed to have its little life protected by the man that protected her and her mother so well.

"His name is Samson," she had told him, placing the plush, custom-made toy into his hands, which cradled it as if it were a living being, "I want you to have him now, 'cause he can help you sleep."

Corvo remembers bringing Samson to his face, smelling the strong wafts of roasted walnuts and soft sand wood that radiated from the toy, and running calloused fingers across soft, brown faux fur, a light smile gracing his face. "Thank you, Emily. I'll keep him safe with me."

At first, he remembered just placing it on his nightstand, it's black, beady eyes facing the bed. He found it hard to sleep under Samson's steady, non-blinking gaze, as even though he knew those little onyx eyes could not see, it was unsettling to be watched.

He brought it into his arms for the first time when the little eyes became too much. Samson was too small to fit in both broad arms, but he tried his best to hold it comfortably. At first, he laughed at himself; a grown man, The _Lord Protector_ holding a teddy bear to sleep. But he wasn't afraid to admit that that night he slept better than usual (still alert, of course, but arguably more restful).

He can't quite remember when he began _talking_ to Samson, only that it most certainly started at some point. It wasn't ever full-fledged conversations, but simply declarations and statement aimed at the non-sentient bear ("Okay, Samson, time for bed. I have to take Emily to her dance lesson tomorrow", and things of the like). He promised himself he's not crazy-- not that he could tell, anyway.

 

After Jessamine's murder, he'd lost Samson. Of course, the bear wasn't exactly on his mind the night he was brought to his cell. In fact, he didn't even remember the bear existed until near the time he decided that furiously scrabbling and pacing his cell wasn't going to get him out and he should try to rest up as much as he could. "I should sleep," he'd muttered horsely into empty, rancid-smelling air, "Samson, I need to--" the silence that followed once he looked at the empty metal cot that the warden insisted was a bed nearly rivaled the mental kick he gave himself. Of course Samson wouldn't be there, he was a 'murderer', murderers don't get cute toys from the heiress of the nation. He remembered that he was too dehydrated and exhausted to cry about it.

 

Escaping from Coldridge was equally satisfying as it was terrifying. On one hand, he was free, on the other he was more trapped than he could ever imagine. Samuel's boat was as open as it was constricting as it bobbed through the waters.

 

He remembers docking and nearly sprinting across the open spaces as if he were a horse that had tasted ground for the first time in its life. He didn't go inside for the longest time, just to get a feel for open air once more before going back into contact with strangers.

 

Once Havlock had briefed him on the situation (which he was only half listening to. He was tired, hungry, and filthy. He wanted nothing more than to sleep and pretend that all of this was a nightmare and sleep would bring him back to the waking world. He'd taught himself how to lie to his heart back in Coldridge and he wasn't ready to give up the skill just yet).

 

He then bathed (multiple times), tried to eat (with little luck. It went out the same way it came in, no matter how wonderful cheap sweet tarts were at this point), and trudged up the stairs into his appointed bedroom. He stepped in and fell atop of his bed with a thud.

 

The bed seemed like heaven, compared to the cot and rag he was given at Coldridge. He didn't appreciate the lump near his stomach, however. He shifted slightly to rid it from pressing into the middle of his chest.

 

It didn't work.

 

He sat up, annoyed, trying to find the source of the disturbance and finding an oddly shaped, golden brown obstruction smack in the middle of the bed. Grumbling, he pushed himself up completely, and the thing tumbled to the floor.

 

Bending over, he lifted the furry object into his hand, and jumped back, letting it pummel back to the ground with a soft, muffled thunk. He stared, hands shaking slightly as he moved forward and bended down, craddling the toy back into his hands. The same, nutty, sand wood smell, now slightly muted, came back to his senses and those same beady eyes looked back up at him, and with shaking hands he sat on the floor and hugged Samson close to his chest, not caring for the fact that the action made him look childish.

 

How the toy got there, he knew not, nor did he care to know, but he was glad it was.

 

And once he finds Emily, he's never going to let it go again. For her sake and for his sanity.


End file.
